Antivenin
by FuchsiaMae
Summary: Caroline gets injured on the job. Cave/Caroline, with a look at angsty!Cave.


**Disclaimer**: Portal and all related characters belong to Valve.

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**Antivenin**

Buried deep beneath the soil of Upper Michigan, Aperture Science's hothouse was a subterranean jungle. Natural light pumped in from above and groundwater pumped in from below sustained a lush variety of trees and flowers, each one planted to serve a purpose. Caroline couldn't help but marvel at this scientific wonder as she trailed behind her boss, who was checking up on the botanical experiments. Aperture's head botanist, a sturdy-looking man named Vince, was their guide. He carried a truncheon in his hand, and there was a machete visible tucked under his lab coat.

"The thing you've got to remember in here is not to touch anything." He pushed aside an overhanging branch with the truncheon. "Some of the more—interesting—specimens can get a bit nasty."

Cave Johnson only laughed. "Science fears no plant! Now let's see those new samples I've been hearing about."

"Right this way, sir," Vince said enthusiastically, leading them to an array of smaller pots. Inside were what looked like ordinary violets. "These may look like ordinary violets, but touch one. These're okay to touch." Johnson reached out a finger to stroke a leaf—the plant visibly shied away from his touch. "See? Shrinking violets." There was pride in the botanist's voice.

Johnson was just as enthralled. "Caroline, have a look at this!"

But Caroline's attention was elsewhere. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something moving in the foliage just above Johnson's left shoulder. "Mr. Johnson!" She flung out a hand to him just as the thing in the tree struck. They met in midair; Caroline let out a cry of pain and jerked away as she felt fangs pierce her skin.

Vince struck almost as quickly, bringing his truncheon down hard on the head of their attacker. Once the creature went limp, they could see what it was—a long vine, as thick as a human arm, which ended in a large mouth-like structure. Caroline saw that what felt like fangs were actually needle-sharp thorns surrounding the plant's maw. She massaged her bitten hand. It stung a little, but she'd felt worse.

Cave noticed her injury immediately. "You alright, Caroline?"

"Fine, sir." She picked up the clipboard she'd dropped, looking ready to work as ever. "Back to those samples?"

"Are you sure?" Vince looked more concerned.

"It's nothing. Look, you can barely see it." She held out the injured hand—a semicircle of tiny puncture wounds was clearly visible.

"You might want to get that checked out," Vince said firmly. He prodded the fallen plant with a toe. "We pumped this baby full of cobra DNA, and it could definitely be poisonous."

"Really, I'm fine." But she was starting to feel a little woozy.

Cave caught her as she stumbled. "Call Medical," he ordered. "We're getting her to the infirmary."

*.*.*

By the time the emergency crew arrived she was on the ground, whimpering in agony. They whisked her away, the two men following—the last glimpse Cave had was of her fear-stricken brown eyes, brimming with tears of pain. Then the medics shut the door. Vince was called in a few minutes later, to fill them in on the plant presumably. Cave was left to wait alone.

The clock in the hallway had to be wrong. It said he'd been waiting for about an hour—it felt like three times that, at least. He didn't think to reflect on the fact that, had it been any other employee, he would've gone on with business as usual. It wasn't any other employee. It was Caroline, and the knot in his stomach kept him from thinking about anything.

Finally someone emerged from the room. The EMT mopped his brow and grinned. "Good thing we had that antivenin on hand, or she'd be a goner." Cave flashed back to some paperwork he'd signed months ago—_If they're experimenting with venom in the lab, we should have some antivenin on hand, just to be safe. Please, sir_? He was suddenly thankful she'd pressured him into it.

The door opened again, and this time his head medical technician appeared—Dr. Helen Harris, an older woman who wasn't fond of her boss's "practical" stance on employee safety. She was about to scold him for putting his assistant in harm's way, but the look on his face made her pause. "It looks like she'll be fine, sir, but since we don't have any experience with plant bites I'd like to keep her overnight for observation." She expected a refusal, as per usual—it cost money to keep people in the infirmary.

She was astonished, then, at his quiet acquiescence. "Do whatever she needs."

*.*.*

Nothing else got done that day. He loitered outside the infirmary until Dr. Harris shooed him away; then he retreated to his office and spoke to no one. At the end of the day he went home alone, skipped dinner—Caroline was the only person who could concoct something appetizing from the canned food in his pantry—and went to bed early.

Now he lay, staring at the ceiling, awake. It was three in the morning.

He felt very strange. He was a man who took everything in stride—nothing fazed him, nothing worried him—yet now he couldn't get to sleep.

He was certainly tired. Exhausted, actually. He wanted to sleep. But something, some nagging unease, was keeping him awake.

He shifted to her side of the bed, empty-feeling without her in it. He hadn't slept alone in a very long time. He didn't miss her—but he thought maybe he'd feel less restless curled up with her warm body beside him. He pulled her pillow to him and nuzzled it the way he would her neck. It smelled like her. He remembered her sleeping face and felt an overwhelming need to stroke her hair, or touch her cheek.

He didn't miss her—but he thought being near her would make him feel better.

He glanced at the clock by his bedside. Three-thirty.

Never too early to go to work.

*.*.*

The door closed soundlessly behind him as he entered the infirmary. She lay asleep—bandaged, hooked to a saline drip and vital sign monitor, but otherwise healthy-looking. Seeing her safe, he felt the knot in his stomach finally come loose. He neared the bed, careful not to make a sound, and ever-so-gently he pressed his lips to hers.

She stirred at the contact, just barely, and her eyes opened. Still almost asleep, she breathed, "Sir…"

He smiled and brushed a kiss on her forehead. "Goodnight, Caroline." She returned the smile and let her eyes slip shut.

Retreating, he lay across the two metal-and-vinyl chairs by her bed and closed his eyes as well. It was not a comfortable position, but he was right—being near her did make him feel better. He slept.

*.*.*

Hours later, he awoke to find her eyes on him. The affection in their warm chocolate depths was better than anything he knew. "Good morning, Mr. Johnson."

"Morning, Caroline. How're you feeling?"

"Just fine, sir," she said with a grin.

He smiled. "That's my girl."

"Do you need me to do something, Mr. Johnson? This is early, even for you."

"I…" But he didn't really know what had brought him here, apart from wanting to see her. He said the first thing that came to mind. "I wanted to talk to you about a new marketing plan for the turrets. I had some ideas, but I wanted your two cents' worth."

She sat up eagerly, more than ready to get back to work. "Actually I've been thinking about that, sir…"

By the time the regular staff arrived at eight, they were back to business as usual—with one difference. This morning, Cave was the one who made the coffee.


End file.
